CSi: IN06: Corpsepoison
by A Rhea King
Summary: Beaten to near death when he won't tell his kidnappers where he hid evidence, Greg is left for dead and rescued by a woman. Because of her, he begins to unravel what's happening to Nick.


**Corpse-Poison**

By A. Rhea King

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><p><em>Author's note: In progress, but just had to share!<em>

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><p>Nick pulled up behind Greg, and inched forward until he tapped the bumper of Greg's Denali. He waited and as expected, Greg hopped out, turning to shoot him a glare. Then he grinned, grabbed his case, and jogged to catch up to him.<p>

"If my bumper is dented…" Greg began threatening.

"Yeah. Yeah."

The two passed an officer at the door, giving him a nod. He returned it. They found Brass with a young woman holding a squirming fuzzy puppy and two officers waiting to take her with them. The house looked like a tornado had hit it – furniture had been ripped apart, pictures were pulled from the wall, even the television was broken.

The group had unconsciously formed a semi-circle around a dead man and woman in the middle of the room.

Greg leaned toward Nick and whispered, "I thought Russell gave Morgan this call. Why are you here?"

"Mine was a fire death."

"Yeah? And?"

Nick looked a little uncomfortable. "So I traded with Morgan. What's the problem?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't have to answer to Papa Bear."

"He's going to find out you started calling him that, you know."

"And do what?"

"Fire you, if I'm lucky."

Greg glared at him, but then reflected Nick's smile. The conversation between Brass and the woman stopped and the two dropped their own conversation.

"If you think of anything else, let me know," Brass told her. Brass handed the woman his business card.

The officers left with her and Brass turned to them.

"Hot night, isn't it?" Brass asked.

Nick smiled. "You should have seen this woman I saw on the way in.

"Nice?" Brass asked.

"Legs that went forever and wearing this little dress."

"Crime scene, Nick," Greg reminded him.

Nick looked at the two corpse and mess around him. "And what a lovely crime scene it is."

The two laughed, making him smile.

"You are in rare form," Brass commented.

"Did I mention the little red dress?" Nick asked.

"You did. So that was a neighbor. She heard something a couple hours ago and then said their dog showed up at her place. She came over to bring it back and saw the door was open. When she looked inside she saw him."

"Did she go any further?"

"No."

"Was there anyone else home?

"She didn't think anyone else lived here."

Nick walked over and crouched by the man. "One to the forehead. Someone wanted to make sure he was dead."

"Same for her," Greg said from the direction of the dead woman. "Doesn't appear to be any sexual assault."

Nick stood, looking around the room. "Probably can rule out robbery here."

"I don't think so, Nick," Greg said.

Nick looked down at him. He had his head down, looking at something on the woman.

"Why? What do you got?"

Greg looked up. He was wearing a huge grin. "Nothing. We just agreed to disagree."

"No. No. That was earlier tonight over that game call. That has nothing to do with crime scenes."

"Oh. I think it does."

"Hi everyone," David the M.E. said as he came in with his bag. "How is everyone tonight?"

"They're disagreeing. I'm leaving." Brass told him. He headed for the door.

"Disagreeing about what?"

"That there wasn't a robbery," Nick told him.

"Oh. Well if it doesn't have to do with the bodies, I don't care."

"I didn't say I didn't think there wasn't a robbery. I just think you were right," Greg told him.

Nick narrowed his eyes. "Oh really."

"Yep."

David chuckled. "Oh boy. You two are both in a super good mood. I better get out of here before it catches."

Nick laughed. He headed for the nearby hallway. "I'm going to check the rest of the place."

"No. I was."

Nick stopped and turned. Greg was still wearing his ornery grin.

"Ya know, Greg, I could pull seniority here and just tell you to do stuff."

"You do that already. Without pulling seniority."

"Yes, but, wouldn't it be annoying if you knew that's what I was doing instead of making you believe you thought of it all on your own."

"Ohhhhhh!" Greg cried. He and David both laughed.

Chuckling Nick headed down the hall to see what else didn't look like a robbery.

#

Three hours passed as the men combed through the house looking for the reason why the couple had been killed, and who'd done it.

It was during a methodical search of a guest room that Greg walked across their first clue - literally. He stepped on a board and heard a creak as it sagged under his weight. He shone his flashlight on the spot and didn't notice anything. He knelt to feel it and that's when he noticed the rug wasn't tucked neatly under the baseboard nearby.

"Nick," Greg called out.

It took Nick a few minutes before he appeared in the door. "'Sup?"

"This rug's been pulled up, and there's a sag under it." Greg pointed at the spot on the floor, but didn't take his eyes off the wall.

The two moved to the wall and worked the rug up. Moving a chair and side table, they were able to pull the rug and padding back to the spot. Underneath was an untreated wood floor and in the sagging spot they could see a spot had been cut out and nicks where the boards had been lifted up. Nick pulled out his pocket knife and pried up a board. It brought up four more, revealing a trap door. Under it was hidden a black duffel bag. Nick took it out and opened it. The bag contained neat stacks of hundreds, the couple's passports, and unlabeled digital video tapes.

"Bet this money and tapes equals motive," Greg suggested.

"I'll see that bet." Nick collected the bag as he stood. "We're almost wrapped up in here. Can you go put this in the Denali?"

Greg put everything back in the bag and for the front door, crossing the lawn toward his Denali. He trotted out the front door and started across the lawn.

He stopped suddenly and turned, staring at the front door. Something was wrong. His mind told him something was missing, but he couldn't put a finger on it. He turned, starting to walk again – and it hit him suddenly. Greg spun around, staring at the door. The officer that was supposed to be there was gone. Greg looked at the radio car parked on the street.

Greg grabbed for his radio, and found it was missing. He jogged to the radio car, but all the doors were locked. He searched his Denali and Nick's, but didn't come with a radio, or his cell phone. Then memory hit him – they had both fallen behind a bed inside when he was leaning over to look at something. Nick called him to the kitchen and he'd forgotten about them.

He turned to face the house. He drew his side arm and started back toward the door. Greg glanced down, realizing he still had the bag. He wasn't going to go back to drop it off right now. Greg got to the door and slowly opened it.

"Nick," Greg called.

He heard something inside, like someone shuffling across the kitchen floor.

"Nick!"

When he didn't get an answer, Greg moved inside. He walked around a short wall that opened into the kitchen and froze.

A man has his hand clamped over Nick's mouth and held the CSI's gun to Nick's head – and Nick looked _pissed_. A second man watched Greg through the sight on his pistol. Greg caught sight of a third man coming through the back door with a rifle aimed at him. His heart pounded in his throat.

"Put the gun down," the man with the rifle ordered.

Greg slowly obeyed.

"We're with the police, guys. We—"

"Hand over the bag," the man ordered.

Greg glanced at the bag. He tightened his grip on it and looked right at Nick. He was torn between protecting the evidence and protecting Nick.

In an instant, Nick made the choice for him. Nick reached up and grabbed the arm of the man behind him. Using it as leverage he swung his legs up and kicked the man with the pistol in the head. He and the man holding him landed hard on the floor. The commotion distracted the rifle man.

Greg hesitated. He could run, but that would be bad for Nick. And then he remembered his radio was two doors down the hall behind him. He spun and raced down the hall. He slammed the room door behind him and discovered there was no lock. He grabbed a chair and jimmied it under the door handle.

Greg looked frantically searched for a hiding place for the bag. He ran to the closet and door things out, and then ran over to an easy chair. Greg pushed it over and forced the bag up into the cushion. He looked at the door when something hit it. Then hit it again and again. He quickly sat the chair up, making sure the legs sat in the exact spots the depressions had been.

Greg began a frenzied search for his police radio or cell phone. Greg found his radio wedged between the wall and box spring. He crouched to grab it when the door crashed open. A yelp of surprise escaped as he was grabbed and thrown to the floor.

"The bag!" the man with the gun demanded. He was a new man, but the two with him had come from the kitchen.

"Go to hell," Greg hissed.

One man punched him. For five minutes the question and the punch went on – but it felt like much longer to Greg.

"Hey, police are on the way. We gotta go," someone called.

"Are you sure he had the bag?" the gunman asked.

"Yes."

"Bring him. We can't do this here."

The men drug Greg to his feet. He tried to pull away, and then let his legs go limp, but it only resulted in painful punches to his face and ribs. He stumbled with them, unable to do anything with his burning anger. As they went through the kitchen, he saw Nick's shoes, but the CSI didn't move. Was he dead? Greg tried to struggle and go back, but someone grabbed his hair and yanked. The pain made him a little dizzy and he stumbled down the back steps with them. He felt the hot dry night air on his face and screamed for help. Someone hit the back of his head with something hard. He closed his eyes against the sparks of light that burst before his eyes. When they tossed him forward he fell hard against the side of a van and then through an open side door.

Greg turned his head, watching seven men flow in behind him. The door shut and the van lurched forward. Nothing happened right away.

The men stared at him, he stared back.

"Where is the bag?" one asked.

Greg considered his options. He could tell them what he wanted, and they would kill him when they got it. He could refuse to tell them, the CSI might find it, and when they found him dead, these men would go to the chair. He didn't really want to die, but if he had to chose between death with no results, and death with his murderers being caught—

Greg drew a breath and screamed, "GO TO HELL!"

They continued demanding the bag as they beat him.

#

"Nick?"

Involuntarily his hand moved and his fingers uncurled. He felt a hand take his.

"Nicky?"

"My head hurts," Nick muttered – because it did. It felt like he'd been banging it on a wall, and made him want to keep his eyes close.

He heard her relief when she said. "Hey. We're in the emergency room."

He opened his eyes slowly. The world started out steady, but in seconds it began spinning and wobbling, making his stomach uncomfortably quake. He closed his eyes before it could make him vomit.

"Is he awake?" he heard Russell ask.

"Yes."

He smelled Russell's cologne and a hand lightly patted his shoulder.

"Think you'll live, Stokes?" Russell asked.

"Maybe. Do I look as bad as I feel?"

"About the same," Catherine told him. "And I know you don't feel good, but we have a problem. Officer Salvatore is dead, and Greg is missing. What happened at that house Nick?"

Nick shook his head a little. "The house was cleared before we went in, so I know they weren't hiding in it. They came out of nowhere. I remember they wanted the bag."

"What bag?"

"Greg and I found a bag under the floor. It had a lot of money, passports, and some video tapes. I sent Greg to take it out to his Denali, and that's when these two men grabbed me. Greg came back in with…" Nick opened his eyes, realizing something. "He still had the bag. He looked a little freaked out too."

"What did the people want?" Russell asked.

"The bag he had. But I kicked a guy and Greg ran down a hall."

"He ran into the house? Not out?" Catherine asked. "Are you sure?"

Nick nodded and discovered that was a bad idea. He closed his eyes, trying to resist vomiting.

"Then three more showed up and went down the hall after him. And these two others beat the hell out of me. I could hear them back there working him over too. Then nothing. I must have been knocked out or passed out."

"Do you know if they found the bag?" Russell asked.

"No."

"If he's missing and we didn't find him dead, that means these men have Greg," Russell stated.

Catherine added, "And Greg hid the bag. We're going to have to find it."

Nick felt a cool hand on his forehead. Catherine asked him, "I need to go look for it. The nurse has our numbers. Call if you need anything. Okay?"

"Yeah. Let me know if you find him."

"We will," Russell promised. "I'll check in on you in a few hours. Get some rest, Nick."

Nick nodded a couple times. It was quiet after they left, giving him time to think of the things he wished he'd done differently.

#

Greg opened his eyes, although only one would open. He stared at the gravel under his nose and didn't do anything else. The silver light that lit meant he was outside, lying under the moon. He heard some crickets, the soft call of a night bird, but no men. They were gone and had left him here. He wasn't sure where here was, but it meant no more bone bruising, flesh ripping punches and kicks. And for that reason he felt safe to close his eyes and let unconscious lull him back.

"What's your name?" a woman quietly asked.

Greg opened his eye and stared at the moccasin not far from his nose.

"Greg," he whispered.

He felt pressure on his back. "You can't stay here. Let's get you somewhere else." There was a pressure under his arm, pulling him up.

Greg slowly got to his feet, pain in every move he made. The woman next to him had long black hair and her face was hidden from view. She put an arm around him. Her touch was so light that it didn't cause any more pain.

"One step at a time, Greg. Let's go."

They began walking.

"What's your name?" Greg muttered.

"Abigail Peterson. That's my married name."

Greg didn't feel like asking about the comment. The two walked away from the bottom of the ravine Greg had been dumped into and out onto the desert.

#

The first sound Greg became aware of birds chirping nearby. He opened his good eye, staring through open doors into a garden. It looked overgrown and birds flew around it. He could hear the gurgle of water from a hidden source in the garden. He looked down at his arm resting on the arm of a recliner. The chair looked worn and not very well cared for.

"Greg?"

Greg turned his head. The woman stood beside him. Her black hair hung to her waist and she had a handful she was twisting in her hand. It covered half of her face, but didn't hide how young and beautiful she was. Her dark skin and bone structure hinted that she was descended from a Native American tribe.

"Are you awake?" she asked.

He barely nodded.

"I need to go to town and get you help. You're hurt very bad. You will have to wait here. Okay?"

Greg barely nodded again.

She walked forward, letting her hair go. She reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. He barely felt her touch it was so light.

"Please, wait here. You are very hurt."

"I promise."

She smiled. "Okay. I'll hurry."

She turned and walked out the open front door. She stopped just outside.

"This house is always hot. I'll leave the doors open for you."

He nodded.

She smiled. "I'll hurry."

"Thank you," Greg told her.

She smiled again and in three steps she'd disappeared into the sunlight. Greg closed his eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness.

#

Greg woke when the car bounced and slowly sat up. The scenery was hot, dry, desert

"Good nap?" Nick asked.

Greg smiled as he turned his head. Nick's eyes didn't leave the road.

"Yeah. How long was I out?"

"About an hour," Nick told him. "We're almost there, according to the guy at the last gas station. Although, I'm not sure I trust the guy."

"Why's that?"

"I asked him about the address and he asked if we were looking for skinwalkers. Said that's what the Indians told him was out here."

"Arizona is a weird place. Or else people need more air conditioning. That waitress back at the diner got all kinds of nasty when you asked her about the address. And now a weird guy. Maybe this is the apocalypse."

That made Nick look at him over the top of his glasses. "Seriously?"

Greg grinned.

Nick just shook his head with a smile. In reality, they both were still recovering from being beat within an inch of their lives, and they both looked it. Their faces weren't as swollen, but they had healing yellow-green bruises and cuts. Greg had graduated from a cast to a walking cast, but was still on crutches. But he was glad Nick was willing to take him to visit the woman who saved his life. He hadn't been looking forward to doing it alone.

"I think…" Nick said as he slowed down. He stopped in front of a mailbox and referred to the piece of paper in his hand. "Yep. Here it is." He turned onto the road next to the mailbox. The road dipped down, heading into a ravine. "Are you excited to meet her?"

Greg shrugged. He was anxious, actually, but it wasn't something he really wanted to let on.

They were silent for a long time. Greg looked over at Nick and noticed he looked a little pale. Or maybe it was the light reflecting off the hood.

"Are you feeling okay?"

Nick shrugged. "My head started hurting."

"Do you have anything in here for it?"

"Yeah, but I can get it when we stop. Thanks."

The two fell silent. The road made a turn at the bottom of a ravine, heading out toward the desert.

"Didn't you tell the Stat Patrol you were dumped back in that ravine?" Nick asked. In the car, the walls of the ravine were quickly descending to meet the desert floor.

Greg glanced back. "I think so. I don't remember much that night. Just this woman that came along and saved me."

"You're not all love sick here, are you? She might be married or engaged or at the very least dating someone."

Greg laughed. "No!"

Nick smiled. "Just checking."

The road turned at the end of the ravine and trees appeared suddenly. The road dipped down again, heading into a small valley with trees.

"It's pretty back here," Greg said. "This would be a great place to just get away, wouldn't it?"

"If you like remote, where no one can hear you scream, sure."

Greg punched his arm. Nick rubbed the spot with his other hand, but laughed.

"That must be it." He pointed through the trees. Greg looked and could see a building in the sunlight through the trees. Greg's smile faded.

"Does that roof… Look burned to you?"

"Must have just happened," Nick said.

Soon they were sitting in the car before a burned out adobe home. There were other adobe buildings, and the ones near the home were scorched. The fire must have been intense to leave the marks on them it had. Nick put the car in park and the two got out. Greg got his balance on his crutches and made a slow shuffle to the door. Nick followed behind him, taking in the sight. The two walked into the blackened interior.

Greg recognized the leather recliner he'd been in. The arm he'd looked at was still intact, looking as old and weathered as it had when he'd first seen it. And the doors to the garden were open. He hobbled toward the doors but slowed to a stop before he got to them.

"I was here, what… A week ago?" Greg asked Nick.

Nick was looking at some charred books. He pulled off his sunglasses and joined Greg. "Yeah."

"Does that look like a garden that hasn't been taken care of for a week? I mean, a garden in the desert?"

The two stared at the garden. Nick walked over to the doors and stepped outside. He backed up a couple of steps, rejoining Greg.

"We should go," Nick said.

"None of this makes sense, Nick. There was..."

Nick drew a breath and Greg looked at him. He was pale and sweating. He had his eyes closed tight.

"Are you okay?"

"We need to go. Now, Greg."

"I can't yet. None of this makes sense. I mean, this garden doesn't look like anyone's taken care of it for… At least…"

"Four years," a voice said.

The two turned.

A man stood in the front door. His back was to the sun and his face was in dark shadow. He held a shotgun in one hand.

"And you people are trespassing."

"I'm sorry. We didn't mean to." Greg said, taking a couple hops toward him.

The gun rose so Greg stopped.

"Look, we might be lost. My name's Greg Sanders. I had was kidnapped and dumped back in the ravine about a week ago. An Abigail Peterson found me and I thought she brought me here, but maybe I'm wrong. And then she went for help. I just want to thank her. Could you tell me where I could find her?"

Greg glanced at Nick when he made a soft sound. He was rubbing the back of his neck and had paled again. Greg made a mental note to ask him about that when he'd calmed down the guy with the gun. He looked back to the man.

Minutes passed that the man did nothing. Then he pulled a bandana from a back pocket and wiped his nose, then where each eye would have been.

"Abby's my daughter-in-law. She's dead."

"Oh. Oh I'm… I'm so sorry," Greg said. "She was so kind. Did she die in the fire here?"

"Yeah. She, uhm… We don't know how it started, but me, my son, her two brothers and Abby were out in the barn stacking hay when it started. She ran in here to save him and they both died." He sniffled and wiped his nose. "She was a good woman, Abby was."

Greg noticed Nick stretch his neck. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. Greg remembered he mentioned a headache and hadn't stopped to take anything before they came in here. Greg turned back to the man. He should wrap this up so they could go.

"I'd like to attend the funeral if you haven't had it yet. Can you tell me where it's going to be?"

The man seemed to freeze. His head began to slowly shake left to right.

"Son, that fire was five years ago. Abby's been dead for five years."

The birds cheerily filled in the eerie silence that fell.

"That's… Maybe… I must have been helped by someone else."

Greg heard Nick whisper, "No. You weren't."

He looked at him. Nick's head was down and he was rubbing the back of his neck.

"You're that Las Vegas man that the paramedics found here, aren't you?" the man asked.

Greg switched his focus back. "Yes. Wait. I was found here?"

The man answered "Yeah."

The man moved closer and the light shifted enough that Greg could see the man's face. The man's right side had scars from deep burns.

"Did you try to save them?" Greg asked.

The man nodded.

"I'm sorry you weren't able to."

He nodded. "Me too."

"I don't… I don't know what I saw. Maybe I was just in too much pain."

"No. You saw Abby." The man's said it with unshakable certainty.

"She's dead, sir, I couldn't have—"

"Everyone around here has seen Abby, some more than others. She's seen up on the road, waiting by the mailbox. That's where she flagged down the police officer the night you were found. Scared the hell out of him – he was coming this way because of a flooded bridge and just seeing her. But I guess she knew that was all going to happen, being in the state she is. Her Navajo relatives say she's a chindi. This is their land and her ancestor's home, but they won't even come back here because of it. Of course, since that night, no one has reported seeing her. Maybe she just needed to save someone to move on."

Greg considered arguing but his past had taught him that there were far stranger things in the world than even science could explain. He nodded.

The man put his bandana away. "Take your time. She'd like that you came to say thank you."

The man walked back outside. There was a horse tied to a post outside, waiting for him. He climbed back on, put his rifle in the scabbard under his leg, and rode away.

Greg turned to Nick. He was staring at something with such a dark, hard stare it was frightening. He looked like some of the murderers Greg had put away, like he actually wanted to kill something.

"Nick?"

That dark, hard stare turned to Greg.

"I'm sorry I got us in this. I didn't mean to—"

"We're leaving." Without waiting for a response, Nick started walking. Greg hobbled as fast as he could after him. Nick was in the car with the engine started before Greg reached it. He got in and was shutting the door when Nick started driving. As they turned, Greg looked up and stared at the woman standing in the door of the burned adobe home. She was holding a baby on her hip, watching him with no expression on her face. The view swung out of sight.

Greg started to roll down the window. He had to look back to see if what he saw was real.

He jumped when Nick grabbed his wrist. Nick's fingers dug into his skin and his grip was tight and hard.

"Do. Not. Look. Back." Nick told him.

"But I saw—"

"Do not look back!"

Greg stared at Nick. He was really scaring him now. Greg sat back in the seat and snuck a look in the side mirror. She was gone now.

Greg watched the land outside in silence. He didn't comment that Nick was going too fast for as rough as the road was, and Nick didn't slow down until they were back on the main road and heading home. Greg looked at him. He stared out at the road without blinking. With two white knuckled fists he clutched the steering wheel. Greg decided to risk saying something.

"What happened back there?"

Nick didn't answer.

Greg slouched in the seat, staring at the land. His mind had enough to chew on without worrying about what had happened to Nick.

Nick spoke just above a whisper, his voice cracking, "Swear you won't tell anyone, Greg. Not a soul."

Greg looked at him. Nick's jaw was set. He was clenching his teeth, something he did when he was pissed or scared – which was he right now?

"I swear it."

Nick didn't speak again for several minutes. He drew a breath and told Greg, "When I go into a place where someone died in a fire, or it turns out to be a suicide, they're still there."

Greg stared. He wasn't sure he was grasping the idea correctly. But his intuition told him he was grasping the idea just fine, and that made him feel sorry for Nick and anxious for himself.

"Who, Nick? Who do you see?"

Nick glanced at him. "The people who just died. And I don't think they get that they're dead, but I'm not about to strike up a conversation to find out."

Greg looked out the window. Several miles passed. They sped past the gas station Nick mentioned stopping for gas at. Greg briefly wondered if they needed gas, but it was suppressed by the more pressing matter.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since he disappeared."

Greg looked back at him. "Since Warrick disappeared?"

Nick nodded. He lifted a shaky hand and smacked away a tear.

"And it's only people who committed suicide and died in fires?"

Nick nodded again. He smacked his hand on the steering wheel and looked sick suddenly. "I… I thought it was over. I thought I was better. I'm never going to be better, am I?"

Greg closed his eyes as he turned his head. When he opened them, the desert stretched for miles outside his window. The two didn't speak again until they crossed back into Nevada.

"Nick, you know, you've had some crazy shit happen to you over the years. You've almost died I don't how many times. You have a plate in your head, a fake knee cap, and pins in your arm from everything that's happened to you. Then here you are, almost beat to death again. So you're seeing ghosts. So what? You are the most together person I've ever seen that sees dead people! And I support you not talking to them. I mean, call me racist, but I'm all for segregation of the dead and the living! I mean, when someone dies, the living shouldn't have to deal with their emotional baggage anymore. It's not like the dead can cry on the living's shoulder anymore, right?"

Nick almost smiled. He sighed slowly and then rubbed is neck a little.

"I noticed you got a headache back there."

"Yeah. That's when I know their close now. I get a migraine with auras, light sensitivity, and nausea. The plate in my head and my kneecap feel like someone's pressing down on them, and the pins burn. Then there they are."

"But they don't follow you, do they?"

Nick shook his head.

"I know everyone would support you again, but I don't think they'd like it. So this is a good thing."

"Greg, if anyone finds out about this again, like Russell or Ecklie, I'd lose my job and probably get thrown in the psych hospital again. You cannot tell anyone.

"I doubt Russell would do that to you, and Conrad did bail you out the last time, but I also promised not to tell. I meant that. Does Greta know?"

Nick nodded.

"Good. Who knows; maybe you'll just wake up and it'll be over. Just like Warrick."

Nick grimaced. "I don't think that will ever happen, Greg. Not this time."

The men fell silent.

Nick reached a shaking hand out and turned on the radio. It was the only noise in the car the rest of the ride back to Las Vegas.


End file.
